


Paint a Picture of the Perfect Place

by Enjolannister



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death, Depression, JUST ANGST EVERYWHERE IM OS SORRY, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Oneshot, Violence, but there, not very graphic, oh and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolannister/pseuds/Enjolannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragic incident, Enjolras is no longer with the Amis. As they all struggle to deal with this loss they realise that Grantaire was the one that suffered the most from this.</p><p>((Again I'm terrible at summaries it's better than it sounds I promise))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint a Picture of the Perfect Place

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired for this by a drawing by my favourite Les Mis artist Littlewadoo  
> Here's the drawing: http://littlewadoo.tumblr.com/image/51898931113  
> Read the warnings in case anything triggers you and enjoy!  
> Kudos if you liked it xoxoxox

Nowadays Courfeyrac and Combeferre co-ran the Amis meetings. Even though it’s been weeks since Enjolras left, his eerie presence haunted the Musain and personally haunted each one of the remaining eight. Even Marius, Eponine, and Cosette, who started frequenting the meetings after Enjolras left, hoping that their theory that ‘the more people the better’ would work. It hasn’t, Enjolras’s ghost took them under his red flag along with the rest.  
Joly wasn’t as cheerful anymore, something in him died when he couldn’t get Enjolras to the local hospital in time. He feels Enjolras’s death was as much his fault as the creep that stabbed him that night.  
The only people who were there were Enjolras, Grantaire, Joly and Feuilly. They stopped at a Starbucks and Grantaire insisted that he was craving a Frappuccino so he and Joly went in to get drinks. Enjolras stubbornly refused to set a foot into that place, loudly claiming, “Starbucks actively supports the Apartheid and funds the Israeli government and their war crimes against the Palestinians!” So he and Feuilly waited outside. So Grantaire and Joly got their drinks and when they exited, Enjolras and Feuilly were nowhere to be found. Grantaire and Joly started calling. “Enjolras, Feuilly! Enjolras! This isn’t funny anymore, come out! You’re bad at pranks anyway!” Then they heard a “GRANTAAAIIIRE!” from the alley behind the pizza store beside the Starbucks they used. They rushed to see Feuilly, badly beaten with a black eye and a broken lip, one of his arms twisted at an impossible angle. He was sitting on the ground, Enjolras lying on the ground in front of him, his long hair spread around his head. His beautiful face debauched by bruises and blood. Feuilly had both hands covering a spot near Enjolras’s stomach. His red shirt made it hard to see that he was bleeding excessively.  
After Grantaire and Joly took in the sight, Grantaire froze. Joly pushed him away and tried to keep a long passed-out Enjolras awake.  
“We have to take him to the hospital! It’s a few blocks from here; we’ll take a cab! Grantaire, get us a cab!” Grantaire didn’t respond. He didn’t even respond when Joly violently shoved him aside to rush to Enjolras. He just stood there. Staring at Enjolras. Feuilly left Enjolras in Joly’s care and ran to Grantaire. “Grantaire! Grantaire!” He was deaf to Feuilly’s calls. Feuilly slapped him, nothing. “Grantaire, can you hear me? Joly, Grantaire’s acting strange.”  
“You get the cab then, we don’t have much time, how long has he been like this?!” Joly replied, carrying Enjolras.  
“A few minutes.”  
“You didn’t think to call us?”  
“They held me, they were about three of them. They, I’ll tell you the story later.” Feuilly ran to the sidewalk and raised his arm, desperately waving at any cab that passed by. Finally one of them stopped. Feuilly explained the situation to the driver, who nodded and asked them to act quickly. Lucky them the driver wasn’t acting arrogant or impatient or showing them attitude like most drivers. They all got into the car, Feuilly slowly pushing Grantaire in. They got to the hospital in a flash. There they found Combeferre working his night shift. He was shocked at what he saw, when they got Enjolras on a hospital bed Combeferre checked his pulse-again, after Joly did in the cab-, he didn’t feel anything. He tried checking at Enjolras’s wrist. He placed his index finger underneath his nostrils, nothing. Combeferre turned to Joly, Grantaire, and Feuilly and simply shook his head. The disappointment was very clear on their faces. Combeferre was really close to tears. Grantaire hasn’t changed, still frozen and unresponsive.  
The day after, Combeferre broke the news to the rest of the Amis. Grantaire was not at the gathering, everyone suddenly knew why. Days passed, weeks. Occasionally one of them would go and check on Grantaire every few days, they took shifts. Eponine, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Bahorel were the ones who checked, since they were the closest to him. They’d always find him in the same state: in bed, staring at the ceiling. Bottles of different types of alcohol, vodka, wine, whiskey, absinthe encircled his bed. He would still be wearing the same outfit from the last visit. Whoever was in charge would clean Grantaire’s room, take him to the bathroom, wash whatever new scars decorated his arms and cover them, watch him shave to make sure he doesn’t add more scars. Would slowly help Grantaire into the shower so he can clean himself. Would make sure he has enough art materials to distract himself. After the fourth shift, Prouvaire went to his apartment-which he shares with Bossuet-with bloody palms and fingers, and a packet of bloody razor blades which he threw in the bin. “Someone had to take them from him, someone had to fight him for the blades.”  
Jehan’s hands healed, Grantaire constantly apologised to him every time Jehan came to his apartment. “I know you want to help Jehan, I was just, I can’t explain why I was so vicious and why I tried to snatch them away from you, I just really needed them and we both know it’s wrong, but-but-“ Grantaire repeated the same apology every time Jehan visited him and Jehan hugged him as Grantaire never finished his apology but began to sob. “I just really miss him Jehan.” And Jehan would hold him and soothe him. “Everybody dies Grantaire, you know that better than most. I know what he meant to you. Does drawing him help?” Grantaire nodded. “Show me your drawings of him.” Grantaire went to the corner of his room where he threw every canvas he had. He lazily turned them over and placed them side-by-side on the ground.  
Jehan knew Grantaire turned into a child and forgot all his troubles when he was showing off his art. Grantaire jumped around the paintings, being careful not to step on any of them. “What do you think of this one?” He’d ask  
“That’s really beautiful Grantaire.” Jehan replied, “I like this one!” He’d point at a random painting. Of course Grantaire has drawn better ones than the one Jehan pointed at, but Jehan knew that the words mattered more than what he truly meant now. His usual frankness and cold, rational logic should not be used on Grantaire, not now.  
“I have to go now Grantaire, if you need me just call, I’ll always answer, no matter the time. I love you.” Jehan gave Grantaire a cheek kiss and left.  
This was the case for about two weeks. Eponine, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel visited him that order, one on each day. Near the end of the second week, it was Courfeyrac’s turn. He knocked on the door but didn’t hear anything on the other side. “Grantaire? It’s me, Courf. I brought you some food.” Still nothing. Courfeyrac got worried. “Grantaire, please open the door I’m worried.” After waiting about ten minutes and calling Jehan and Eponine he heard the door unlock. He carefully turned the doorknob and entered Grantaire’s dark apartment. “Grantaire, Where are you? I’m putting the food in the kitchen, we got McDonald’s.” He placed the brown bag on the table in the kitchen and walked to the living room. It was dark and empty, Grantaire’s radio was on, Youth by Daughter was playing. Courfeyrac turned to the door to Grantaire’s bedroom and saw that it was open, through the small gap between the door and the frame he saw some light. He opened the door and froze at the doorframe.  
What he saw was indeed a sight to see. Granatire’s bed was moved all the way to the right, covering the way to the balcony. He placed all his canvases on the bed, along with everything that can be placed on a bed to make the room empty. There was just the carpet. Exactly opposite of where Courfeyrac was standing Grantaire was seated, facing the wall.  
On the wall Grantaire had drawn his masterpiece, his artwork to end all other artworks. On the wall stood Enjolras. Long, red, and glorious as ever. It was so masterful Courfeyrac thought Enjolras had returned for a minute before his eyes adjusted. Enjolras was wearing the red jumper he wore when he was killed and his blue jeans. His hair was cut short in the painting; Courfeyrac remembered Enjolras planned on cutting his hair before that night.  
He saw how the red jumper was too big for Enjolras, and it showed his neck and his collarbones. Very much like it did when he last saw Enjolras. His eyes were a really bright sky-blue colour that stared down at where Grantaire was sitting with an air of superiority. There were swirling mists and clouds around Enjolras’s figure, guns pointed at him, it all did nothing but glorify their fearless leader. In his left hand Enjolras had a red flag raised high over his head, it fell down from his hand and covered half his body.  
“It’s done.” Grantaire said, breaking the silence after about five minutes of Courfeyrac observing Grantaire’s masterpiece and fighting off sobs. Courfeyrac finally noticed the last significant detail: where Enjolras was holding the flag, there were bright rays of white and yellow spreading everywhere. Grantaire didn’t turn to face Courfeyrac; he was just seated square-legged in front of his masterpiece and staring up at it. His hands were soaked with paint, blue, red, yellow, white.  
“Grantaire, that’s…” Courfeyrac was at an utter loss for words. He sat beside Grantaire before he turned to him and noticed Grantaire looked terrible. There were dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his lips were dry; he had dark stubble covering his face. His eyes were red from lack of sleep.  
“Grantaire?” Grantaire immediately turned to face Courfeyrac and laid his face on Courfeyrac’s lap, sobbing into it.  
“I just really want him to come back, Courf.” Courfeyrac heard through the sobbing. It’s as if Grantaire was holding all this in since he last saw Enjolras.  
“Sshhh, it’s alright, R.” Courfeyrac was crying with him, he had more control over his sobbing though, the only sign Grantaire got that Courfeyrac was crying was how his voice cracked when he spoke, “Just let it all out, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. We all miss him too.”


End file.
